Silver linings. A poem by Angela Washington

Creeping into the tenth week of the steep learning curve of this Covid induced
isolation through a glorious spring of lengthening days and cloudless skies,
of luscious leafing and profusions of blossom; smiling and waving at neighbours
on illicit daily walks down the lane at the side of the house; seeing the daily tally
of the flock increasing and cavorting and bleating and cute and curious and wagging
their tails and growing; learning how to work the video on my phone and finding
how easy it is to share these joys on my doorstep with just a few taps on my phone –
how smug-inducing that is; feeling good about learning how to Zoom even if choir
practice was a disaster – there’s something about laughing together at the same old
corny jokes that resembles a security blanket; Maggie and me spending an hour
catching up and putting the world to rights – only this time it’s a first time (for me)
video call from the other side of the world; sad at receiving refunds for summer
festivals and commiserating with like-minded folk about the loss of these not quite
basic human requirements that feed our souls, never more so than now; still not sure
about being labelled vulnerable; cuddling the cat on the sofa at the end of a busy day

not strictly in solitary in these strange Covid times of golden sunshine and silver linings.

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